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Description

My third and probably final submission to the contest being held by . This one took a lot out of me. This is the first time I've ever colored the line art, and it was a hassle. Regardless, I'm not COMEPLETELY satisfied with how this turned out, but I almost never am with my works. The poem featured in the work is"PURPLE CLOVER" by Emily Dickenson.

There is a flower that bees prefer,
And butterflies desire;
To gain the purple democrat
The humming-birds aspire.

And whatsoever insect pass,
A honey bears away
Proportioned to his several dearth
And her capacity.

Her face is rounder than the moon,
And ruddier than the gown
Of orchis in the pasture,
Or rhododendron worn.

She doth not wait for June;
Before the world is green
Her sturdy little countenance
Against the wind is seen,

Contending with the grass,
Near kinsman to herself,
For privilege of sod and sun,
Sweet litigants for life.

And when the hills are full,
And newer fashions blow,
Doth not retract a single spice
For pang of jealousy.

Her public is the noon,
Her providence the sun,
Her progress by the bee proclaimed
In sovereign, swerveless tune.

The bravest of the host,
Surrendering the last,
Nor even of defeat aware
When cancelled by the frost.

Hope the guy likes it. I think he will. Next time, though, he's paying TOP DOLLAR!! Howzit?

Description

My third and probably final submission to the contest being held by . This one took a lot out of me. This is the first time I've ever colored the line art, and it was a hassle. Regardless, I'm not COMEPLETELY satisfied with how this turned out, but I almost never am with my works. The poem featured in the work is"PURPLE CLOVER" by Emily Dickenson.

There is a flower that bees prefer,
And butterflies desire;
To gain the purple democrat
The humming-birds aspire.

And whatsoever insect pass,
A honey bears away
Proportioned to his several dearth
And her capacity.

Her face is rounder than the moon,
And ruddier than the gown
Of orchis in the pasture,
Or rhododendron worn.

She doth not wait for June;
Before the world is green
Her sturdy little countenance
Against the wind is seen,

Contending with the grass,
Near kinsman to herself,
For privilege of sod and sun,
Sweet litigants for life.

And when the hills are full,
And newer fashions blow,
Doth not retract a single spice
For pang of jealousy.

Her public is the noon,
Her providence the sun,
Her progress by the bee proclaimed
In sovereign, swerveless tune.

The bravest of the host,
Surrendering the last,
Nor even of defeat aware
When cancelled by the frost.

Hope the guy likes it. I think he will. Next time, though, he's paying TOP DOLLAR!! Howzit?